Prints
by Laerkstrein
Summary: There was just something so appealing about the cool night air and a set of glass doors.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach_, _or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

**Prints**

**A/N: **AU.

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><p>He'd heard the rumors, but that's all they really were. They had no merit, nothing to back them up. And that was why, being busy as he always was, he promptly chose to ignore them. It was either that or hunt down the nonexistent perpetrators. A foolish waste of time.<p>

It was a warm day, with clouds circling in from all sides, perhaps preparing to converge over the city by nightfall. It wasn't a bother, really. He'd be home before the weather grew foul. Although, given the increasing amount of laziness he had to endure at the office, he wasn't going to promise as much to his employees. Maybe it would be best to go through the list and cut a few names.

He reached for the handle of the glass door, pausing as the people behind him stopped and stared, laughing amongst themselves. He had no idea what they found so amusing, and he didn't really care until the joke caught his eye. He turned, hair falling into his face as he raised an eyebrow. What was that on the window?

There, present for all the world to see, was a set of handprints easily accompanied by a well-defined print of a different sort. The kind that people were supposed to keep in their bedrooms, and out of the public eye. He sighed, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone. He dialed a number, waited a moment, and hung up, knowing that he'd be speaking with a stammering employee soon enough.

"Yes, sir!" a man said, appearing beside him, looking rather perturbed. "I came as quickly as I could."

"Mr. Abarai," he said, glancing absently at his watch, "would you kindly explain to me what sort of vulgarity is on the door of my building?"

The red-haired man gasped, eyes wide as he stared, mouth agape. "W-Well, sir, I..." He paused, tugging at the collar of his white shirt. "I-I think that maybe someone decided it would be amusing to... Well, to do... To participate in scandalous activities... Uh, sir..."

"That's what I thought. Get rid of it." He turned, eyes like nails. "Now."

The other man stammered, acknowledging the request his boss had made. Quickly, he retrieved his phone, dialing a number before pressing it firmly to his ear. It rang several times, making him feel more and more like a fool. It was his responsibility to maintain security, and he'd failed to catch a couple of turned-on teenagers before they could expose themselves on his turf. It was incredibly humiliating. He'd be fired for sure.

"You idiot!" he barked when his call was answered. "Get out here now, and clean the front doors! What? There are _prints _all over the glass, and Mr. Kuchiki wants it cleaned now!" With that, he flipped the phone shut, standing securely in front of the embarrassment so as to keep people from staring. "Who the hell would do something like that?"

Honestly, he had an idea, but it wouldn't be appropriate to say as much. It wouldn't do if his boss, who was already pissed as it was, caught wind of the fact that his head of security believed the prints to be his doing. Well, his and a frequent dark-skinned visitor.

**# - # - # - #**

"Hey, cut it out!" she hissed, giving him a smack. He was going overboard. "Listen, I still have to make it to work, you know! It won't look right if I walk in with marks all over my face!"

He sighed, pouting. Even after a night of fun, he didn't feel like giving up. Maybe they'd played too much, but he was fine with that. It would be even better if they could just laze the day away as pleasantly as the dark hours. "Quit shouting, loudmouth. They're gonna find us. Besides, I have all day to take care of it. No harm in having a little more fun, right?"

"You heard what he said," she retorted, shoving him away. "Your boss wants it cleaned up now! Get going!"

A hand flowed through his orange hair as he fell back, knocking a bottle of window cleaner off the shelf, rolling his eyes. Ichigo didn't care what his boss wanted. The man was about as fun to talk to as a dog with a hangover, and he had an attitude that could steamroll over a train. He'd have a better chance of having a coherent conversation with Rukia while in the throes of passion.

"Yeah? Well, why don't you tell the boss different? You could do that. He's your brother. Why don't you just take care of it?"

She pressed her hands against his face, glowering at him. "I have work too, idiot." She gave him a light slap. "I'll play your stupid games later. Now go clean up your mess, all right? Mr. Janitor."

"_My _mess?" he scoffed, pointing a finger at her. "It was _your _ass all over the window, you know!"

"Is that right? Well, who's the genius who _put it there_?"

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><p>No idea how, but this came out thanks to a very strange IM session with <strong>Antithene<strong>.


End file.
